Whatever Happened to Bromance?
by vlad the inhaler
Summary: Cormac McLaggen explains a few simple truths to Harry, with profound consequences. Harry/Romilda. Smut.
1. Verities & Vane

It was arguably the worst party he had ever attended. Not that there was an impressive number of such things to compare it with, granted, but the night was nonetheless fast becoming unbearable.

Around him, his classmates seemed to be having an enjoyable enough time. Slughorn had brought a half-vampire(?) friend of his along, and the novelty of it was amusing to a number of students. Even without such an odd guest, Harry supposed that the general atmosphere, the holidays... the liberally spiked punch – all contributed to an evening well spent.

Which didn't explain why he was up against the back wall, glowering at Cormac McLaggen.

He'd come alone – in the end uncertain over whom he could have asked without causing more of an uproar than he was comfortable with. His abortive attempt to go with Hermione and nip the nonsense in the bud had proven a spectacular failure – compounded by the fact that her 'secret date' was in fact the very person she had only weeks ago called 'vile.' While he didn't seriously entertain becoming romantically involved with Hermione – as if there weren't enough drama on _that _front – it was nonetheless a shot across the bow of his ego to be turned down by his best friend.

Self-pityingly, he thought back on the only other quasi-dates he had been on, with Parvati and Cho. He sighed... the looks Romilda had given him that day in the library, regardless of her reasons, were something that deserved consideration. It was wrong, sort of... he knew that, but with Ron spending every available moment playing hide-and-seek with Lavender's tongue... why couldn't he have a bit of fun as well?

Idly, he supposed he could have asked Luna – it was a shame he hadn't though of such earlier. She was sweet and friendly, if not entirely there. He wondered if her own special sense of the world might come out in other ways, should the opportunity arise. He shook his head, a little disgusted at going down that particular avenue in a room full of people. He looked at his watch – it had only just gone nine – he had another three hours to kill, perhaps two if he wanted to leave without being singled out.

_Dammit, _but he was horny – it seemed everywhere he went these days witches he hadn't looked twice at were suddenly blossoming before him – and then throwing themselves on other blokes. Ginny was all over Dean, Lavender was with Ron... and here he was, alone, while Cormac-the-human-squid spent the evening pawing at Hermione. _Not that she doesn't deserve it, _he thought uncharitably.

He smiled slightly as Cormac's attention was forced away from Hermione, a burly seventh-year Ravenclaw pushing him away, the two suddenly engaged in a silent if clearly heated debate. Hermione, he was pleased to note, looked incredibly relieved, immediately distancing herself from Cormac and his stooge. His _schadenfreude_ was shortly-lived however, as she caught sight of him. As she approached, she hissed, "_come here," _dragging him behind the billowing drapes that Slughorn had imported specifically for the occasion.

"So, how's McClaggen?" Harry asked, trying to clamp down on the happy spitefulness in his tone. Fortunately, Hermione didn't seem to notice, as she was fiddling with her dress – rearranging it back to it's pre-Cormac position.

"He's_ wretched!_" She groaned. "He's like an octopus – everywhere at once. I don't know why I ever thought this would be a good idea," she finished despairingly.

Harry nodded – he could have told her it was a trainwreck in the making, but she seemed to have gotten there in the end. Still, he supposed he ought to try and help out; she was his best friend after all. "Would you like me to –"

"Hors d'oeuvres?" Neville Longbottom's head materialized from between the curtains, holding a silver platter of round meat balls, that still seemed to be wriggling.

"What _is_ that?" Hermione asked, her expression comically disgusted and yet fascinated with an almost academic interest in the mystery cuisine.

"Dragon _tartare_," Neville replied with a straight face. At Harry and Hermione's equal looks of disgust, he shuddered slightly, pulling a face as well.

"I don't blame you. They give you horribly bad breath," he responded, earning him new looks of incredulity from the pair as if _that_ were the main issue at hand.

As Neville turned to leave, Hermione called out, "On second thought." She grabbed the entire platter, grimacing as she grabbed a pair of the wriggling meatballs and shoved them into her mouth. "Maybe this will keep Cormac away," she grumbled around the food, before turning a pale green. "It's _disgusting._"

For the second time in as many minutes, Harry felt no need to clarify he already suspected as much, and Hermione's revelations were neither particularly enlightening nor revolutionary.

"Oh, shh! He's coming!" She shoved the entire platter into his hands and before Harry could ask, Hermione had disappeared once more. He turned back to Neville.

Neville was gone. In his stead was Cormac McLaggen himself.

"Hello, Harry!" Cormac said, patting him on the back and giving him a winning smile. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Hi," Harry replied, deadpan.

Cormac took no notice. "Haven't seen Hermione have you? Seems to have disappeared on me, the cheeky minx."

Harry shrugged, clamping down the urge to say something unpleasant. "I think... maybe she went to get a breath of fresh air." He finished quickly, looking for a polite way to escape on his own.

"Ah, that's what she calls it, eh? Likes the thrill of the chase, that one. Good girl image, bet she shags like a Dragon," he chuckled, giving Harry a forceful jab in the ribs. "Just between you and me... what's she like in the sheets? Worth trying to have a go? It's just that Stimpson's been giving me looks all night and I don't want to waste my time if it's not really worth it." He finished with a shit-eating grin.

Harry flushed, outraged. "Hermione's not like that!" he hissed, furious at McLaggen's brashness and insinuations. "And what do you think I'm going to do, help you –" Embarrassed, Harry trailed off, though the meaning wasn't lost. "Get out of here," he finished in a low grumble.

"Hey, hey. Didn't mean it like that," Cormac responded, arms raised in a show of surrender. "I just figured she was available – she came with me didn't she? Didn't know you had called firsties." Cormac nodded, as if acquiescing. "Stimpson it is then."

"First –" Harry spluttered. "I'm not, that is she... We're not."

Harry then noted a rather unnerving gleam in Cormac's eye. "Well it's settled then! Glad we cleared that up. What are those?"

"These?" Harry asked, looking at the still squirming lumps. "Um... dunno – something special the minister sent in. Delicious though."

Cormac nodded absently, grabbing a handful for himself. "Rufus is a capital bloke – going hunting with him in a week's time, I'll send him your regards."

Harry nodded, cheering as Cormac ate first one lump of raw dragon and then another. Hopefully, between him and Hermione the two would kill one another with their breaths. As Cormac indulged in a third helping, Harry turned to leave, bumping into another figure as it came back behind the curtain.

"Hello, Harry," whispered a low, husky voice that immediately caught his entire attention. Stepping towards them was Romilda Vane, wearing a tiny black dress and a pair of black heels that pushed all her assets forward... and what assets they were. She smiled, holding out a flute of a bubbling amber liquid.

"Merry Christmas."

"Um... to you to, Romilda. Merry Christmas." Harry winced at the hash he made of it. Not for the first time, he regretted that their first meeting had been so divisive, with her casual degrading of his friends. He knew – as Hermione (hypocrite!) had pointed out that she was only interested in him for being the boy-who-lived. But being completely honest with himself, he wasn't sure his interest in her branched out to such depths as basic conversation.

"I hope you're having a good evening," she said, and Harry snapped back to the conversation, keeping his eyes on her own. "Professor Slughorn mentioned that there's going to be dancing soon – I wanted to let you know so you wouldn't miss it."

Harry's insides turned cold – his one and only experience at the Yule Ball had not made for happy memories, and this was unlikely to be any better. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," he replied stonefaced, deciding inside that it was clearly time to leave.

Romilda pouted, before she gave him a final wave and said goodbye. He didn't miss how she flounced when she turned around, or the sway of her hips as she slunk back around the curtain...

"Duuuude! Tell me you're hitting that."

As if it could not get any worse, McLaggen had witnessed the entire thing.

"Um... no."

"Are you kidding me! You're Harry Fuckin' Potter. A girl like that threw herself at me, she could polish my wand anytime she liked."

"Polish your... thanks Cormac. I better go, and you probably better go find Hermione – she's probably getting lonely."

Cormac didn't want to let up. "Seriously, what's wrong with you man! She comes in here looking for _you_, all but begging to see your sphynx, and you send her away like a broken broomstick! I'd stick my bludger so far up her quaffle she'd be out for weeks! And Harry fuckin' Potter just sends her away! You must be getting more tail than you know what to do with, if a girl like that's not even worth your time!"

Harry turned a brilliant crimson.

"You chivalrous mother fucker," Cormac gasped, appalled. "Merlin, Harry, are you blind! Tits like that! I bet she's a screamer too," he whispered conspiratorially. "A regular Banshee between the sheets."

Cormac continued blithely on, apparently forgetting Harry was even there. "If she came up to me practically falling out of her top, I'd make like the Hogwarts Express and **railroad **the bitch!"

Harry wanted to disappear entirely, just fade away into the curtains. "It's not that simple," he hissed, looking around frantically to make sure nobody was overhearing this mortifying conversation. Seeing nobody, he opened the curtain, eager to escape.

"Ahh... Mr. Potter. There you are _lurking _in the shadows as always. A word, please."

Harry winced. For a moment he was overcome with temptation to pull out his wand and see if he couldn't just off himself then and there. Snape had no doubt heard every word.

"Yes, Professor," he replied, schooling his face as best he could to survive the coming onslaught.

"The Headmaster will not be seeing you over the break. He has had to travel."

Harry blinked as Snape began to turn away. That was it?

"Why? To where?" Harry cursed himself as his treasonous mouth gave Snape a reason to turn back around, glaring at him as if he were a particularly vile concoction under his boot.

"That is none of your concern, Mr. Potter. If you have any more inappropriate questions..."

Harry didn't, and Snape turned away, his cloak billowing in customary Snape fashion.

"So... maybe you wanna tap that instead?"

"What! You don't think..." Harry felt ill at the notion, his stomach churning at the very idea that he would want anything at all to do with Snape, let alone...

"Whatever," Cormac replied with a nonchalant shrug. "It's just if sex on heels doesn't interest you, I figured maybe you were interested in greasy guys." He patted Harry on the back. "To each his own, and all the more for me, I say."

"I do not want to... _anything_, with Snape," Harry hissed, fighting down the urge to vomit. "Of course I know Romilda is attractive, but it's complicated, okay?"

"Complicated my balls! She's not attractive, she's smoking like feindfyre. Look – it's simple. You're Harry fuckin' Potter, am I right?"

"Not how I'd say it, but..."

"But nothing, you're Harry fuckin' Potter, Slayer of the Basilisk."

"How did? That is I –"

"Damn right you did! And you took on the Dragon, fucked up You-Know-Who's shit more times than you can count."

Harry took a moment to note the absurdity of saying 'you-know-who' and 'shit' in the same sentence, before nodding slowly.

"Right. So if Harry fuckin' Potter can do all that and then some, then he can get his shit together and get him a piece of ass that's practically begging to be taken. Am I right?"

"Well..."

"I'm right! You better believe I'm right! **Handle it Potter, handle it!"**

"It's not so-"

"**Handle it!"**

Harry closed his eyes, trying to block out the massive humiliation assaulting his senses. There had to be some way to shut McLaggen up. And yet... it would be nice to get the girl – even one who didn't really care about him so much as who she thought he was.

"Whatever, Cormac, fine. What do I do so you'll leave me alone?"

"That's my man!" McLaggen shouted, earning a few looks and giggles from those around, as he pounded on Harry's back once more, sending the smaller boy staggering. Then, before Harry could react, he pushed him forward, sending him tumbling towards the the center of the floor. Catching himself, Harry looked around - Slughorn waved and gave him a beaming smile – everyone for that matter seemed to be looking at him. Harry returned a shaky smile, moving out of the spotlight towards the table in the back – he needed another drink.

Shaking, he poured a glass. He was going to have a drink, say thank you to Slughorn, and then spend the next few hours in the security of his dormitory, plotting a bloody, bloody revenge on Cormac McLaggen. He drank quickly, gulping down the slightly spicy punch as though he were parched. Finishing it, he decided to have one more.

"Pour me one too?" A voice, accompanied by a soft touch on the arm made him turn. Of course – it was Romilda, giving him a doe-eyed look as she held out an empty glass.

Behind her, a few meters away and also utterly unsurprisingly, was Cormac, making an obscene and unsubtle gesture with his hips, while giving Harry a massive thumbs up.

Damn him if Cormac was going to make him look like a complete idiot in front of everyone.

"Yeah, no problem," he replied, looking back at the girl in question. "Having a fun time?" he asked, feeling lame for asking such a question but not really sure what to do.

Romilda shrugged, the tips of her hair just barely touching her bare shoulders. "It's been alright," she replied, jerking her head towards the group of fourth year girls he'd noted earlier. "But Stevens... he's ever so dull, Harry. Not like you."

Harry fought back a gulp. He'd never said more than ten words to Romilda, and he wasn't so dense as to not catch on to where she was going. "I'm sorry," he replied, at a loss.

She giggled. "It's not your fault. I just was hoping you might like to chat for a bit. It's such a shame we don't interact more outside our own year, even in our house. I think we should do something to change that."

Harry nodded, handing her back her drink. "We had a dueling club back in second year, but it didn't turn out so well. Still, maybe they should try something like that again – or anything really. Just a way to get people to mix more. As it is, you get caught up with your classes."

Romilda beamed at him, as if he had just extolled the next great fount of wisdom. "That's a wonderful idea. You should ask Professor Slughorn about it – he's always telling our class how wonderful you are. A _protege_, he calls you."

"A..." Harry fought down a blush. "Well, I have been giving it a bit more effort this year," he finished proudly. _This isn't so hard._

"He really thinks your amazing, and I've seen you in the common room, working away... not that you don't do anything _but _work," she amended quickly. "What with quidditch and all. I considered trying out for the team, but I'm afraid I've never really had the opportunity to play much before."

"Ah, that doesn't matter at all," Harry replied cheerily, fully enjoying the swing of the conversation. "I'd never played a day in my life until I came to Hogwarts, and Ginny's brothers never really let her play with them – picked it up herself mostly. If you're good with a broomstick, come out next year and give it a go. I could help you a bit if you like."

"Thank you, Harry," she said, smiling up at him. "I'll take you up on that sometime." Then, suddenly, she frowned. "It's really noisy in here, don't you think? I'd really like to talk to you some more, about... brooms."

Harry paused – the conversation now was clearly not really a conversation. And while years of quidditch had given him a tough skin to the various jokes and innuendos revolving around 'riding the broomstick', Romilda's tone left very little up to the imagination. Nevermind Fred and George's perverse glee in telling Ron (and Harry by proxy) just how embarrassing one's first time could be.

"Not for _us,_" Fred had clarified with exaggerated indignation. "But for lesser wizards," he'd made a show of leering at Ron, "the _Patronum _occurs before you _Expecto, _if you catch my drift."

George had simply snickered the entire time.

He might very well have backed off and saved himself any (more) potentially mortifying experiences for one evening, until he once more caught the look from McLaggen. A look that was neither haughty, humorous, nor mocking.

Cormac was looking at him with something that looked suspiciously like pride.

"Um... sure, Romilda. That would be great." Who knows, maybe nothing would happen. Maybe she really did just want to talk, and it would just end up a nice evening.

Not all of him seemed to be pulling in that direction.

"Wonderful," she squealed, grabbing his hands and leading him out of the party. Focus caught between Romilda and whatever was to come, Hermione's apocalyptic glare went completely unnoticed.

"I hope you don't mind, but I thought we might go to the Room of Requirement. I'd like to see it," she said, biting at her lower lip as she looked up at him, eyes wide.

"You know about that?" Harry asked, taken aback slightly.

She laughed softly. "_Everyone_ knows about it now, after how heroic you were last year. So can you show it to me?"

Harry grinned, feeling absurdly proud once more. "Yeah, I can show it to you. It's really neat."

She bounced, giving him a very tight hug in the process.

A short while later, they arrived at the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy, Harry explaining on the way how the room worked. When they arrived, Romilda asked if she could make the room. A surprise, she called it. With no objection, Harry agreed.

Together, they stepped into the room of Romilda's design.


	2. You'll Come A Waltzing

Harry looked around curiously, surprised at the relatively small dimensions of the room. He was in a modest-sized bedroom, dominated by a large bed with frilly pink lace. There was a small desk in one corner, a dresser in another, and the walls were covered with moving posters.

Romilda turned and spread her arms in a sweeping gesture, pushing her breasts tightly against her little black dress.

"It's my room at home," she smiled coyly. "You're the first boy who's ever seen it."

Harry nodded in wonder at the details that the Room had been able to provide. There were pictures on the desk, stuffed animals on the bed, and suspiciously lacy knickers hanging from an open dresser drawer.

He took a closer look at the walls, and saw that the space above her bed was filled by a huge poster of him. He was on his broom and reaching for the snitch in a photograph that appeared to have been taken last year. Next to it was a smaller picture from his third year, in which he smiled goofily as his teammates held him aloft.

Romilda was quite enamored with his quidditch exploits, it seemed.

"Do you like it?"

"It's, er…nice," Harry replied, suddenly feeling a little claustrophobic in the presence of so many moving images of himself. She clearly had a crush on The-Boy-Who-Lived, and he wondered again why he had let her lead him here.

"I'm _such _a fan of yours, Harry," she breathed dreamily, and stepped closer to him.

"The way you handle your broom; it's just so _stimulating_. It makes me feel all…_tingly_."

She stepped even closer, so that their faces were only inches apart. Her dark eyes looked up at him with an expression that made Harry's heart race. He could feel her breath on his face, and his stomach clenched with anxiety. He was both excited and terrified at Romilda's obvious innuendoes, and he didn't know how to proceed.

"I thought it was ever so unfair," she whispered, leaning in even closer, "when that horrible woman banned you last year."

"Yeah," Harry choked out, his mind now far from quidditch as she stared into his eyes.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when she suddenly leaned forward and grabbed the front of his robes, pulling his face to hers. She turned her head and kissed him firmly on the lips as his eyes widened in surprise.

Shocked by her sudden advance, Harry opened his mouth to speak and immediately found his tongue assaulted by Romilda's. She attacked his mouth hungrily until he woke from his stupor and hesitantly returned her kiss. He wondered if snogging was supposed to feel this violent.

After a few moments of aggressive tongue wrestling, she pulled away and sighed with satisfaction, but not before giving his bum a firm squeeze.

"I knew you would be a fantastic snog," she whispered huskily, and Harry nodded speechlessly. He hadn't done much of anything except prevent her from raping his tonsils.

Romilda trailed a finger slowly down the front of his robes, her doe eyes looking up at him coyly through the fringes of her hair.

"You know what I've always wanted to wear?"

"Wassat?" Harry murmured, his glasses askew and his eyes glazed over from the recent invasion of his mouth.

"Your quidditch jersey."

"What?" Harry replied, the apparent non-sequitur pulling him slightly out of his daze.

"Your Gryffindor jersey," she repeated. "It's _so_ dreamy looking."

"Oh."

Harry frowned and looked around the Room of Requirement, wishing for his jersey to appear. Nothing happened.

"I'm, er, not sure if the Room can provide that."

When she responded with a cute little pout, he was struck with the kind of inspiration that comes only in the most desperate of circumstances.

"Dobby!"

The little green man popped in the room and looked around curiously. When his eyes fell on Romilda, he smiled in a way that Harry found somewhat disturbing.

"What can Dobby be doing for the great Harry Potter Sir?" he said with exaggerated deference, his tennis ball eyes never leaving Romilda.

"I was hoping that you could retrieve my quidditch jersey from the lo—," Harry began, but Dobby had already popped away.

Two seconds later he was back, holding the scarlet and gold jersey in his hands and presenting it to Romilda as if he knew why it had been requested.

"Will that be all, Master Harry?"

"Er, yeah, thanks Dobby," Harry muttered, a little bemused by the elf's eagerness to fulfill this particular order.

Dobby grinned as Harry returned his attention to Romilda and the jersey.

"Dobby is thinking it's about fucking time, Harry Potter, Sir," he muttered to himself as he popped away.

Neither of the humans in the room heard the elf's commentary. Romilda was fingering the cloth between her fingers in a way that could only be described as amorous, and Harry was watching her with some apprehension.

"It's gorgeous," she breathed. "Just as I imagined it would feel. I _love _how big your name is."

Harry grinned weakly as she ran her hand across the "POTTER" on the back of the jersey. She was clearly living out some kind of fantasy, and he was still unsure whether he wanted to be a part of it.

She looked up abruptly and beamed a dimply smile, holding the jersey to her chest.

"I'm just going to get more comfortable. Don't you go anywhere."

She ran to a small door that Harry hadn't noticed earlier. She jerked it open to reveal a small private bathroom, then winked at him as she backed in and closed the door.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief at her exit.

_What the fuck am I doing here?_ he wondered desperately to himself, looking around the bedroom more attentively in Romilda's absence. He now noticed that there were traces of his presence everywhere. On her desk, on her dresser, on the walls…

_Merlin, this girl is crazy. Should I just go back to the party? Maybe I could hide in a broom closet until this blows over. Dear God—Is…is that a Harry Potter doll on her dresser? I must be insane to be here._

He began pacing in small circles around the room as he pondered a way out of his current predicament.

_I'm going to kill McLaggen. That's all there is to it. Nothing but a grease spot left behind. 'Handle it, Potter…Railroad the bitch.' What the hell does that even mean?_

Harry had the absurd image of himself pistoning in and out of Romilda as he pumped his arm and screeched "Choo! Choo!" at the top of his lungs. He shook his head and tried desperately to get rid of it. He began running his fingers nervously through his hair as he paced.

_Bloody hell, I can't do this. I don't have any idea what I'm doing. I've never even seen a girl naked, for Merlin's sake._

The ghostly image of McLaggen's smirking face reared up in his mind.

"What the fuck, Potter?! Are you sure you're not a homo? You can handle You-Know-Who, but you can't lay the pipe to some hot, willing poontang? She's begging for it! Just go with it, you fucking twinkie."

"Shut the fuck up, McLaggen!" Harry swore aloud, and then winced when he realized that Romilda could probably hear him. In his desperation he began to wonder if the two had conspired to trap him in this situation. Was all of this part of some evil ploy? Was McLaggen working for Malfoy?

He shook his head furiously, trying to clear it of the panicked, paranoid voices that were assaulting him. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest.

"For pity's sake, don't you _want _to get laid, Potter?" he heard McLaggen's voice echo in his head. "Or would you rather just ask your buddy Weasley for a handjob?"

Harry growled at the voice and stopped pacing. He took a deep breath and tried to relax.

"Just a girl; she's just a girl," he murmured softly to himself. "You want this, right? So what if she idolizes The-Boy-Who Lived? You deserve a little break, don't you? It's not like you're abusing your fame; she's been after you all year."

Harry's panicked thoughts stopped abruptly as he heard Romilda emerge from her bathroom. He turned to look at her, and his mouth fell open at the sight before him.

She was wearing only his Gryffindor jersey; it hung just below her hips, barely covering her modesty and emphasizing her shapely, bare legs.

"What do you think?" she smiled playfully, turning and lifting up the edges of the shirt to show off the underside of her bare arse. "It's just my size, I believe."

Harry had to agree. His eyes drank in the alluring mounds peeking out from below the jersey, then roved over the jersey itself. He couldn't help but notice that she filled out its chest in a very satisfying way.

"It's _very _comfortable," she cooed, slowing drawing closer to him. "I wish I could just keep it on forever. But I'll give it back if you ask nicely."

Harry could only nod as she came closer, her intentions now obvious even to him. She stopped mere inches away and looked at him with an affected pout.

"Don't you want to get more comfortable too?"

Harry nodded again, still speechless at what was happening, and she smiled with obvious delight. She put her hands on his robes, and he acquiesced as she slowly removed them. A moment later she had pulled off his shirt, sending his glasses flying, and then eagerly unbuttoned his trousers.

He felt both helpless and aroused as she yanked them to his ankles. He stepped gingerly out of them and looked at the smiling girl before him.

He was now wearing only his boxers, and they were so tented with his arousal that they looked like they might burst at the seams. Romilda looked down at the tent and intentionally wetted her lips before returning her eyes to his.

"That's _so _much better," she giggled. "Aren't you more comfortable now?"

"Yeah. Comfortable."

Harry gulped and grinned weakly as she stepped forward and pressed her body against his, pinning his erection against her belly. Her nose rubbed softly against his and she looked into his eyes.

"Touch me, Harry. Please."

She leaned in to kiss him, and this time he responded eagerly. Her soft, pleading voice had shattered his reservations. Something about the way she said his name made him want to throw her on the bed and ravish her, obsessive fangirl or not.

As their tongues played together, he settled his hands on her hips. She quickly pushed them down until they were resting on the bare flesh of her thighs. Harry was stunned at their softness, and let his hands roam higher.

He cupped both of her arse cheeks hesitantly, and she let out a soft little moan that made his cock ache in anticipation.

"That's it, Harry," she whispered. "Don't be shy. We're friends, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Harry breathed, and kneaded her soft mounds with his hands as they kissed.

After a few moments of this, she pulled away and looked up at him in feigned shyness. "It's getting rather warm in here, don't you think? Will you help me out of your shirt?"

Harry had never heard a better idea in his life.

He held his breath as he slowly slid his jersey up her thighs, over her stomach, and then finally over her head. He dropped the jersey to the floor and stared in awe as he beheld all that Romilda had to offer.

She was a small girl, but her features were perfectly proportioned for her body. Her breasts, he thought, were probably of average size, but looked gloriously large on her petite frame. Her nipples were dark and stood out perkily in arousal.

The dark curtains of hair that framed her face were mirrored by the trim, dark triangle between her legs, but there was a small gap between her thighs from which a pair of smooth pink lips peeked out at him.

"So hot," he whispered unconsciously, and Romilda giggled and blushed.

"Why, thank you, Harry. Would you like some help too?"

It took him a moment to catch on, but Romilda hadn't waited for an answer anyway. She stepped forward and gripped his boxers with both hands before slowly kneeling to slide them down his legs.

Harry's cock sprang out eagerly, directly in front of her nose, and she giggled as it bounced.

"Oh my. What a big boy you are."

She stood back up and looked him in the face as one of her hands wandered to his cock. It twitched her in hand when she caressed it, and she smiled lustily at him.

Harry breathed out raggedly as she massaged him, and he let his hands wander across the soft firmness of her breasts, teasing her dark nipples until they stood out rigidly against his palms. He squeezed them gently, and Romilda leaned forward to kiss him once again.

Their embrace was now fuelled by lust, and each devoured the other's mouth hungrily. She ran one hand roughly through his hair and stroked him gently with the other. She broke away after a moment to encourage his wandering hands.

"Lower, Harry."

He needed no further encouragement. He obliged her enthusiastically, hardly able to believe his luck. His estimation of Cormac McLaggen was suddenly skyrocketing. He owed the hulking boy a massive debt for encouraging this, and wondered why on earth he had ever hesitated.

His hands roamed along her hips and gently cupped her arse before he slipped one of them between her legs. He hesitantly ran his fingers through the black hair that covered her mons, surprised at its softness. It was short and straight, and had been trimmed recently.

He slowly reached further down until he cupped her smooth vulva in his hand; he was stunned at the heat that radiated onto his palm. Romilda moaned into his mouth and Harry gently parted her folds with one finger and explored the wetness of her lips.

_You are holding a pussy in your hand_, he thought to himself in awe. _You, Harry Potter, the boy who grew up in a cupboard in Surrey, are cupping a pussy that is wet for you._

He almost laughed in glee as he felt his middle finger slip inside her. _My finger is inside this girl's body_, he shouted internally, truly in shock at what he was experiencing.

It was so warm and soft and wet that he could barely concentrate on returning her kiss. He wriggled his finger tentatively, and Romilda giggled into his mouth at the soft squelchy sound that was produced.

"That feels good," she whispered, and gave him a smile that made his cock throb against her hand in desperation. Her gentle caresses were bringing him inevitably closer to orgasm, and he wanted to avoid it as long as possible.

He had no sooner thought that than Romilda reached down with her other hand and gripped him tightly. She began tugging on him with both hands, and the tightness of her squeeze made it impossible for him to resist any longer. His breathed out sharply and opened his mouth to warn her.

"Romilda, I…"

But it was too late. The eroticism of the situation was just too much for his libido, and his orgasm overtook him without warning. His cock bucked in her hands and shot a river of white onto her belly.

"Oh!" she gasped in surprise.

She stopped stroking him, but it hardly mattered. Harry's cock had a mind of its own, and it continued coating her until his warm spunk dripped down her belly, its rivulets running onto her thighs and into her dark pubic hair.

Harry turned crimson, mortified at the mess he had made.

"Sorry, I…er, tried to warn you."

"That's all right," she giggled, looking down curiously at the white fluid that was covering her midsection. She reached for her wand and waved it across her body, and most of Harry's mess disappeared.

"Did you like what I did for you?" she purred, and he grinned sheepishly.

"Very much."

"Now where were we?" she teased, and pressed her body against his again.

She gripped his softening cock in her hand and began stroking it gently, and in very little time he was standing at full mast again.

His fingers sought out the warmth between her legs once more, and this time he added a second finger to his explorations. He pressed them into her as far as he could, delighted at the pulsing heat that surrounded his fingers. He twisted them gently within her, and Romilda hissed in pleasure and closed her eyes. He was enthralled by the look of transport on her face.

He continued pressing his fingers into her walls until she pulled away and regarded him with a triumphant look. She tossed her hair back dramatically and smiled.

"Take me, Harry," she sighed breathlessly. "Take me now."

Harry was taken aback for a moment by her theatrics, but decided he just didn't care. He was now fully in the moment, and couldn't care less that she was unhealthily obsessed with him. He wanted this. If she was using him to fulfill some sort of storybook fantasy…well, who was he to not play along?

Romilda led him to her childhood bed and lay down on her back. She spread her legs widely for him, and he marveled at the sight of her glistening lips, pink and wet and waiting for him.

He climbed awkwardly onto her, careful not to crush her with his weight, until their faces were inches apart. He looked her in the eye and saw no fear or apprehension there; only desire and something like pride.

"Are you ready?" he asked nervously, not quite sure how to proceed.

He knew that tab A went into slot B, but the mechanics of the act weren't totally clear from the pictures he had seen in Seamus' girly mags.

"Make me yours, Harry," she whispered throatily, and he did his best not to wince at her choice of words. Desperately hoping that he wasn't making a terrible mistake, he reached between his legs and positioned himself at the edge of her soaking warmth.

When he found the right spot, he pressed forward gently, hoping to ease into her. He was surprised when it didn't work, his efforts seemingly thwarted by her pelvic bone. He adjusted his angle and tried again, only to be rebuffed once more.

Harry frowned and looked down in confusion, and Romilda helpfully pulled her knees forward, lifting up her pelvis and pulling her arse slightly off the bed.

"Try now."

Harry tried anew, but was again defeated. Deciding he didn't have the proper angle of entry, he lifted his hips higher and pushed his cock further down. He rubbed it up and down against her in exploration, seeking a little purchase in her wet folds.

He fumbled for a few more seconds, desperately wishing that he could see what he was doing, then finally found the opening he was searching for. He pushed in gently, his head engulfed by her tightness, but hesitated when she suddenly stiffened beneath him.

"Harry!" Romilda hissed sharply, and pushed her hands against his chest. "That's not…that's the wrong hole!"

He pulled out of her as if he'd been slapped.

"S-sorry," he stuttered, his face turning a bright crimson again.

_If the twins ever got wind of this_…he thought in horror, unwilling to consider the potential fallout.

"It's okay," Romilda smiled tightly. "Here, let me help you."

She reached down and guided him in, and a few awkward moments later he felt his crown slip inside her.

"Holy fucking Merlin," he breathed, in awe of the wet warmth that engulfed him.

Romilda giggled and returned her arms to his neck, draping them lazily over him.

"Now you're all set, Harry Potter. Just go slow."

He pushed in slowly, ever so slowly, savoring every millimeter as he went. He could literally feel her walls stretching to accommodate him as he filled her, and the tightness made his head spin.

When he was finally sheathed fully within her, he paused to take stock of himself. It was quite unlike anything he had ever experienced. The sensation of her tight, soft walls gripping his cock so tightly made his abdominal muscles spasm in ecstasy, and he felt another orgasm welling up against his will.

_Not yet! Not yet, you bastard!_ he thought furiously at his cock, and stilled completely to prevent another accident. He was so aroused that his body seemed to be outside of his control.

"Mmmm," Romilda murmured, her eyes gazing languorously into his, "that feels so good, Harry. So, so good. Just how I imagined you'd feel."

Harry grinned, a little embarrassed by her praise, and focused on maintaining control of his cock. He pulled out very carefully, releasing half his length, and then pushed back in hesitantly.

Romilda whimpered and dug her fingers into the flesh of his back.

Harry withdrew slowly again, trying to ignore the unbearably sensual little noises that she was making. He thrust into her more forcefully, and knew instantly that he was doomed.

The friction was just too deliciously tight. There was no way he could take much more of this, and he had only just begun.

_Ah, well, fuck it,_ he thought dispiritedly, and focused on enjoying himself.

"Oh, that's it, Harry; take me!" Romilda hissed, and Harry closed his eyes and fought desperately to hold off his orgasm.

He thrust in and out of her three more times before his inevitable orgasm overtook him. He grimaced and panted as his cock spurted uncontrollably within her.

When he opened his eyes, she was looking at him oddly.

"Did you, er, go again?"

"Yes," Harry sighed. "Sorry. I just, erm, haven't really done this before, and…"

He stopped when he saw the expression of disbelief on Romilda's face.

"This is your first time? Your first time is with _me_?"

"Er, yeah."

Her expression turned to one of delight before he could blink. "Oohhh, that's so sweet! I can't believe we're sharing this together!"

She reached up and hugged him tightly, and Harry patted her awkwardly on the back and tried to avoid her death grip.

"I'm really sorry I didn't last longer."

"It's okay," Romilda sighed and released him. "It felt, er, very good while it lasted, I suppose."

Harry winced at her words, and his face heated up in shame. He cursed Cormac McLaggen all over again for goading him into this mess. He felt as if he had failed at some important challenge.

He could almost see McLaggen frowning and shaking his head at him in disapproval. "What the fuck, Potter? You better tap that ass for real or I'm going to revoke your hero card. Harry Fuckin' Poofter it will be."

Harry gritted his teeth at this internal conversation, wishing he could beat McLaggen to a bloody pulp. _I slay basilisks, you fucking wanker. It's Harry Fuckin' Potter to you._ He could almost hear Cormac's laughing retort.

"Then why don't you slay some pussy, then?"

Harry sighed and unconsciously whispered aloud.

"Harry Fuckin' Potter."

"What?"

"Give me another chance," he said earnestly, ignoring her question. "I'll do better, I swear it."

She looked at him in confusion for a moment, then glanced down between them.

"Oh, well, if you can handle it…"

Harry barked out an involuntary laugh and shook his head at the absurdity of his life. "Oh, I'm going to bloody well handle it, all right."

He stared down at his cock, still partially within her, willing his erection to return. To his astonishment, he could feel himself grow harder. It certainly didn't hurt that he had the hormones of a 16-year-old boy, but the near instant return of his arousal made him wonder if his magic weren't somehow helping him along.

He looked down at Romilda like a man with something to prove, and earned a surprised squeak when he thrust into her again, burying himself completely.

"Okay; do over," Harry grinned.

She was still warm, wet, and ready, and he began sliding in and out of her gently, focused on not being overwhelmed by the sensations that his cock was sending to his brain.

Romilda let out a pleased sigh and placed her hands on his hips, and he closed his eyes and concentrated on lasting as long as he possibly could. He moved slowly within her, deliberately relaxing his abdominal muscles.

_You're Harry Fuckin' Potter; you're Harry Fuckin' Potter_, he repeated to himself in a mantra. _You can fucking handle this._

And by Merlin he did. Eight minutes later he was still going strong, and Romilda was cooing and moaning like a porn star beneath him.

He had begun to sweat profusely, his eyes closed in concentration as he thought about everything except what he was doing. Instead of the intoxicating scent of sex that pervaded the room, he thought of the smell of Ron's dirty socks. Instead of the soft whimpering moans made by the girl beneath him, he thought of the obnoxiously snide voice of Snape when he was ranting. Instead of the delicious tightness that gripped his cock, he thought of Dolores Umbridge's broad, toad-like visage.

Romilda began softly chanting his name when he filled her, and it was the most glorious sound he had ever heard.

"Harry…Harry…Harry…" she moaned, her voice so lost to passion that it nearly caused him to shoot his load on the spot. He drove into her with determination, desperate to control his body and to return the pleasure that she had given to him.

When she began panting softly and reached down to touch herself, Harry nearly smiled in relief. He couldn't take much more, but she was going to cum. He, Harry Potter, was going to make a girl cum.

She was so wet now that he could pound into her roughly, and he picked up his pace and did so. Romilda gasped his named loudly and rubbed her clit in small circles, completely lost in the moment. She let out a long continuous moan and then stopped abruptly, and Harry felt her body grow rigid beneath him.

A moment later her walls contracted around his cock and spasmed forcefully.

"Oh, yes, Harry, yes," she cried out as if in pain, and that was all Harry needed to send him over the edge.

His cock exploded within her, his climax coming just on the heels of hers. His balls ached as he rode out his third orgasm of the evening, but he nearly laughed at the feeling of relief as he filled her. He had done it right this time.

When they were finished, Harry rolled off her and lay on his back next to her. Both sighed and stared at the ceiling in bliss.

"That was—," Romilda whispered, but seemed not to know how to finish.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, a goofy smile lighting up his face. "It sure was."

She nuzzled herself into the crook of his arm, and Harry obligingly wrapped an arm around her. He was still astonished that he was lying here in the arms of a naked girl, one whom he had just shagged until she screamed his name.

So much had changed in the last couple hours.

His concern over Draco's disappearances seemed like a distant and unpleasant memory now. His irritation with Ron and Hermione and their childish war of wills had faded into nothingness.

All that mattered was that, for one night at least, he had been Harry Fuckin' Potter. And it had been fun. Sure, he had committed a couple false starts, including one that he would never, ever divulge to another living soul, but he had crossed the finish line in the end, hadn't he?

His general annoyance with Cormac McLaggen was suddenly replaced by a respect generated only when one man procures another man some pussy.

He had misjudged the seventh year badly, he realized. McLaggen did not deserve a bloody, bitter revenge; he deserved a parade in Diagon Alley, or something else equally befitting a god among men.

* * *

AN: Guest-written by Hoo's Your Daddy. Massive thanks for this extraordinary effort.


	3. Handling The Day After

"So, how was it?" Ron asked the next morning at breakfast, visibly struggling to maintain an air of indifference.

"Brilliant!" Harry blurted, an enormous grin erupting on his face despite his best efforts. A sudden pain in his leg got his attention, and he noticed Hermione was giving him one of her more angry glares.

"About what you'd expect," Harry amended belatedly. "There was a half-vampire – dunno how that works – but it was a lot less interesting that you would have expected."

"Mmm," Ron grunted sullenly, turning back to his eggs.

"Oh _really… _you didn't miss anything. McLaggen was an absolutely _dreadful _date – I'm regretting it all the more now, and _Harry _didn't even stay – he left early."

Harry shrugged, utterly too pleased with himself and (by the end of it, at least) the night's events. Ron was grinning as well – pleased that Cormac had proven himself a wanker and that Harry seemed in high spirits.

"Ah, he's a decent bloke once you get to know him – a little loud is all. I think we've misjudged him."

Ron's look of smug delight melted into confusion and then a look of horror.

"_McLaggen. _He's a… well, he's a lot of things, and none of them that I'd like to be," Ron snarked, catching himself as a group of seventh-year prefects passed by. He turned to Hermione half for support, half in accusation. "What happened with McLaggen? Tell Harry he's barmy."

Hermione huffed, sending Harry another poisonous look. "I don't know what happened with McLaggen. Like I said, Harry left early, with _Romilda._"

Ron looked between the two. Hermione was huffy and once more staring daggers into Harry, while Harry seemed caught between embarrassment and grinning like an idiot. Finally, Ron broke out into a smile of his own.

"Well done, Mate!"

Harry and Hermione stared, not sure what to make of this unexpected development.

"Are you out of your skull!" Hermione shrieked, fighting to keep her voice down – by now the Great Hall was beginning to fill with students who had stayed behind on break. "Romilda Vane, I _told _you she only cares about you because you're the boy-who-lived, and on top of that was talking about love potions."

As neither Harry nor Ron responded – both continued to stare blankly at her (Harry still wearing that damnable grin) she tried a different tact.

"You took advantage of her. You know how she felt about you, and why, and you took advantage of it. You're all the same, you _men._" She made the word vulgar.

Harry's mind stumbled, unsure where exactly to begin its grand rebuttal. Ron, it seemed was slightly quicker.

"Bloody hell, Hermione! It's not a big deal or anything, it's just _snogging._"

Perhaps 'quicker' was the wrong word, Harry mused.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" he said, turning to Harry. "You should have really gotten started sooner, but you caught up eventually," he said with a wink. Hermione looked fit to burst – whether over Ron's indirect reference to Lavender or of his utter lack of comprehension of the full situation, Harry wasn't sure. Come to that, what exactly _did _Hermione know? He shuddered at the thought. She hadn't come right out and said he'd done… what he bloody well had done – so that was a good sign, but she did seem particularly pissed off.

_Just how fast does gossip spread around this place? _he thought with a sense of impending dread.

He shook his head, clearing it of such treasonous thoughts. He wasn't going to give a damn one way or another. A twitch in his pants confirmed that the rest of him was in full agreement.

"Oh, lay off, Hermione," Ron added for good measure as Hermione looked fit to spit rivets. "Yeah, she's a bit… nutters, where Harry's concerned, but give a bloke a break, eh? No harm in a one-off go, is there?"

A chorus of giggling jolted Harry away from Ron's earnest if inept attempts at defending him. Turning around, he noticed a gaggle of girls, all surrounding an extremely self-satisfied Romilda Vane. For a moment, his blood ran cold – surely she wouldn't… after all, he knew she was clearly enamored with him, there's no reason to believe that she would say anything about his performance… or if that was too much to ask for, surely she wouldn't have said anything damaging. And, he thought self-righteously, he _had _given her a bloody good show, when it was all said and done.

And perhaps he was right. Romilda gave him a little wave, and the rest of the girls were looking at him with starry-eyed wonder. He nodded in return, trying to imagine how Cormac would handle the situation. _**Handle it – **_that seemed to be his new motto for everything; so much had changed in the last few hours… _Right, need to thank Cormac, and have a proper talk with him. Maybe make him reserve keeper… wouldn't change anything and he'd probably like having an official role on the team. Perhaps Ron wouldn't mind if Cormac played one game… _Harry frowned, that wasn't likely, but it was something to think about.

"Harry… you still there?" Ron's voice came back to the fore.

"Huh… yeah – just thinking," Harry replied sheepishly.

Ron nodded, as if considering a matter of great gravitas. "You gotta be careful though mate. Don't let any one girl tie you down – be your own man, keep your options open, yeah?"

"Oh really, Ronald?" Hermione interrupted. "And how does Lav-Lav feel about this?"

The inevitable shitstorm was put on hold indefinitely when a _thump _to the back sent Harry forward, forcing him to grip the table to keep from falling into his food. His attacker identified himself a moment later.

"Harry Fucking Potter, my man! Looks like I wasn't wrong about you after all! A real hero!" Cormac clearly had no worries over who heard him. He sat down next to Harry, picking a piece of bacon off the serving plate as he did so. "No worries Weasley, not here to steal Granger away," he ignored Hermione's huff and Ron's mutinous glare. "Just came to congratulate Harry. How's it feel, getting yourself a prime slab of Azkabait?"

"Azka…" Harry was at a loss – as were his friends, by the looks of it. _Where does he come up with these words?_

"Well anyway," he paused, chewing the last of the bacon. "Just wanted to check on you – can go either way, really, that first time. Guess you and me are just something else," he gave Harry another thump on the back for good measure. "Bet you're a fuckin' Ironman – you better not be charming the broomstick, dude – that's no way to fly." Cormac's tone indicated he was joking, though that didn't fail to mortify Harry anyway.

"Gotta go - Stimpson's waiting… in a bit of a mood with me, you know how it is. Women."

Harry nodded, adding further fuel to the fire when he instinctively reached out and high-fived Cormac, which ended in a very confused series of hand gestures that Harry didn't quite follow.

"That's how we do it!" Cormac declared. As he turned to leave, Harry stopped him.

"Hey, Cormac – I need to talk to you sometime, err… privately. About some stuff."

Cormac nodded, as if he'd been expecting this. "No problem dude – can do. Pickup game going on tonight at the pitch; why don't you join us and we'll talk after?"

Oblivious to the now shell-shocked duo next to him, Harry nodded. "See you then."

With that, Cormac turned and walked – _strutted – _to the other end of Gryffindor table, where an extremely frazzled Jessica Stimpson was doing an incredibly poor job of ignoring him.

"Guy's a genius," Harry mumbled softly.

A pained growl brought him back to reality.

"He _is,_" Harry insisted, more forcefully. "You just have to give him a chance."

Ron didn't seem inclined to compromise. "You're playing _quidditch_, with _him. _He's the _enemy._"

Harry snorted. "Yeah… right. Anyway, it's just a friendly. I'm sure you could come too if you like." He paused, thinking about the possible ramifications. "Next week, perhaps," he amended awkwardly.

The three fell into an uncomfortable silence. On the one hand, he supposed he was in part to blame for it this once, and felt he really should do something about it.

On the other, he felt like a million galleons, and damned if he would give it up for anything. It still felt surreal, like how he couldn't have realized before last night how much he was missing out on. He grinned – again. One thing was certain – come hell or high water, he was damned if he was going to be missing out on it any more.

He smiled – he had a lot to learn, but by Merlin he was going to learn it. With half-hearted excuses, he got up, walking out of the Great Hall.

And not a moment too soon. No sooner had he left than Ginny came in, furious, a contrite and confused Dean following in tow.

A minute later, Romilda also stood up, a mischievous smirk on her face – though it was tempered by a dreamy, far-away look that still smoldered in her eyes. Hands brushing down her skirt once, she turned in the direction that Harry had left, bouncing slightly in a not-quite-run as she moved to catch up… pausing only to smile sweetly at Ginny, who seemed to be locked in a staring contest with the fried potatoes…

"Harry! Harry, wait up!"

Harry stopped, turning around as Romilda flounced towards him, his blood warmed at the sight… was it only eight or so hours ago that they'd been together, lying spent in the facsimile of Romilda's room? His arms were open, and she jumped at him, embracing him in a tight hug, breasts pushing into his chest as she cooed into his ear.

"Are you glad to see me?" she asked, voice teasing.

"Yeah," he replied, voice confident and brutally honest. "Glad you're happy, too."

She giggled, "That's so sweet of you to say. You're ever so thoughtful." She beamed at him. Harry beamed back. He _was_ thoughtful.

"So um… what do you want?" He winced – clearly he still needed some work, though Romilda didn't seem to mind.

"I wanted to ask you something," she said, voice coy, and a quart of blood went rushing southwards. "I really enjoyed last night –"

"Me too." Harry interrupted with profound agreement. Romilda giggled again, no longer pressed up tightly against him but still dangerously close."

"But… I wouldn't want you to think I'm like that with just anyone," she said, suddenly much more serious, a pout crossing her face. "If we're going to do this, I think we should be official. Don't you agree?"

"You… you want to be my girlfriend?" The words sounded corny, cliché… _foreign, _in a way. And in truth, as much as he'd enjoyed last night, he hadn't put a single thought into what this would mean… an actual relationship. On top of which, her… obsession with him was more disturbing than flattering – though that hadn't been the case last night. Belatedly, he realized now was not the time to be hesitant, as Romilda was staring at him with those wide doe-eyes, a flicker of impatience – and, he was a little shocked to see, genuine hurt - marring her otherwise confident gaze.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, flushing slightly. _Don't blow her off, Potter. Let her blow you. _"Yeah… caught me by surprise is all. But yes!" He finished as enthusiastically as he could (which, in his defense, was truthfully pretty good). "You're my girlfriend." He was pleased it came out more a statement than a question.

"Mmm, Harry Potter, my boyfriend. Has a nice ring to it," she replied, grinning cheekily, though she also sounded more than a little relieved. Shameful as it was to admit it, it lit a spark in his ego.

Harry didn't care if it had a ring or a rice pudding – what he did care about was Romilda had slipped her hand into his, and was leading him up a very familiar path…

"I thought this time, maybe I could see _your _room," she said impishly.

A vision, almost a prophesy, played out before his eyes. The Room of Requirement as a mingy cupboard, or a prison-cell of a bedroom, littered with broken toys and ratty books. How would she react – run away in horror? Or sit him down, coax the sorry story of his past out of him, telling him it would be alright, that the worst was over – that together they would make a bright new future?

It was hard to imagine which was more appalling.

_I'm Harry Fucking Potter, _he thought fiercely. _I've got a girlfriend, and I'm going to have sex… again! And I'm not doing it in a replica of Privet Drive. _He growled, earning him a look of shock and… awe? – from Romilda. He sped up. Now it was he leading the way, Romilda forced to play catch up, not that she seemed to mind.

_A big bed. A massive bed – like Grimmauld. _Harry nodded to himself, it was a start. His bed at Grimmauld, and the general layout would do – he could touch it up a bit. _No reason my room would be anywhere near as fancy as hers, anyway. _Yeah, this could work.

_Would. _It _would _work. He'd be damned if the Dursley's were going to haunt him, especially now. He was going to make a nice enough room, and then he was going to make Romilda see stars. Till the room could turn into Filch's office and she wouldn't give a damn.

Harry smiled, feeling a wave of confidence that he'd never felt before. It – and everything else – would work just fine.

Because he was Harry Fuckin' Potter.


End file.
